


Good Night

by RuleBritannia



Series: A good day [4]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Prompt Fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:44:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuleBritannia/pseuds/RuleBritannia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the day ends unlike anything he would have thought of, but couldn't have ended in any other way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> This part is longer because there’s more *clears throat* action. I am so not sure about it, as maybe it clashes with the other three parts. I mean, I’m not saying to expect explicit, but I’m not sure is SFW, it probably isn’t, though I wrote half of it at work.

There had been giggles, of all things, and plenty from the both of them. Hand holding, almost constantly. There had been stolen kisses at the round of almost each corner. Pauses to just look at each other in silence. It had been absolutely silly and downright childish at times. There had even been chocolate. It was all so PG-13, and only because someone had cursed at them that one time Arthur had tried tickling him in a crowded street. 

Martin’s ever-present grin spoke volumes of how little he cared about that.

It was all Arthur, though, that had suddenly stopped looking like a child in a man’s body, and started to show as the truly amazing, happy, free soul he was. He wasn’t a child; children weren’t necessarily kind, and their innocence was the result of lack of exposure to the cruelty of world, not a permeability to it. Children were hardly ever selfless.

Martin had allowed himself to be silly, and childish, and not spend an evening second-guessing himself, or trying to be someone he wasn’t. It had turned into one of Martin’s best evenings of his life approximately ten minutes in. Before they knew it, the evening had flown by and they were way over past their bedtimes, quite literally. 

By the time they arrived to the hotel, the lobby was practically empty. They picked up their keys at the front desk from a bored looking clerk, and made their way to the elevator, neither looking at the other, nor letting go of the other’s hand. Martin guessed that even Arthur wasn’t immune to the heaviness of the moment. Whether that night meant they had implicitly decided this was something more, something permanent – which he thought was a given- or just one marvellous day keeping each other company, nothing would be as simple, or as private, in the morning. 

He didn’t want it to end. It didn’t necessarily _have_ to end. But much as he found himself surprised at how little apprehension he felt at the idea of spending the night with Arthur, it felt like they had failed to cross some sort of line during the evening. They were miles away from sharing a bed. The whole concept seemed far away and improbable in his mind. He wasn’t even sure Arthur would want him like that.

All of this, of course, up until the elevator’s doors closed.

Then it was all Arthur, flushed against him, kissing him like none of the kisses around the corner. Martin found himself responding before the surprise even registered, breathing him in, melting against him. Arthur was fully taking advantage of the few inches he had on Martin, wrapping around him, lifting him slightly at times, his hands firm and adamant and curious as they travelled across his chest, torso and hips. Martin was being completely overpowered in the kindest way possible. It was overwhelming and unexpected and so, so good. His arms went around Arthur’s neck, one hand massaging the younger man’s scalp and eliciting the most adorable moans.

They stumbled out of the elevator, clumsily kissing lips and necks and ears along the way to Arthur’s room. His feet were offering no resistance. Neither was he commenting on the fact that he had his own room- that, granted, he shared with Douglas- at the other end of that floor. His heart was beating madly in his chest. This was actually happening. 

Arthur started mumbling incoherently between kisses, as he fumbled with the lock. 

“Stay, please?” he finally breathed out, pleading so quietly it made Martin wonder if he meant just that night.

It was too much; Arthur trailing kisses down his jaw-line and throat, strong hands caressing his hips in circles. His brain kept providing a barrage of images of things that terrified him and things he was desperate for, and most of the time, they were the same things. They were going too fast. _Were_ they going too fast? He had no idea, no parameters for comparison. 

It wasn’t so much that it was Arthur now pressing him vehemently against his hotel room door, after using their own weight to close it behind them. It was that it was another man. He was comfortable enough with his bisexuality to admit it in the privacy of his own thoughts when he was sure there were no telepaths around, yet here he was, being undone by his very male friend, instinctively opening his legs to let him settle there, and the implications of his own surrender made him dizzy with vertigo.

Finally, the feeling of Arthur’s arousal against his own broke him completely. He was falling, he couldn’t breathe, or stop thinking, or make sense of his thoughts. He gasped, clutching Arthur’s shoulders desperately.

“Oh, god, stop,” he wheezed out, and he wasn’t sure it was aimed at Arthur, or his train-wreck of a brain, but Arthur stepped away immediately, so swiftly it startled Martin a bit. The reaction was slightly unnatural, pavlovian almost, and Martin wondered if perhaps Arthur had trained himself to react to that word. He slid to the floor, staring at Arthur, who was standing flushed and panting at a safe distance, and looking at him through half-lidded, glazed eyes as if he was a frightened animal he needed to approach. He didn’t look put out or upset, just worried a bit, biting his bottom lip. 

Martin outstretched one hand, too weak to get up, but wanting to clear that concern from Arthur’s face. The young man crouched carefully in front of him and Martin lazily climbed onto his lap, straddling him and burying his face on the crook of Arthur’s neck, nuzzling him. Arthur’s arms wrapped around him again, though this time slowly, running slow circles on his back. 

“Alright?” The softness of the question made Martin’s heart ache a little.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and placed a kiss below Arthur’s ear. “I’ve… I haven’t done this before. With… With a man, I mean.” He felt he needed to clarify. Some times it was all he could do to remind **himself** that he wasn’t a virgin.

Arthur tightened his hold.

“Me neither.”

He pulled away slightly in surprise and stared at Arthur disbelievingly.

“Really? I thought…”

 

“Yup. I just hadn’t thought about it before.” Arthur shrugged. “It’s a bit weird, isn’t it? You don’t have as many curvy bits, but you still feel brilliant.” As if to prove that point, Arthur buried his head in the junction of his neck and started kissing, a lot gentler, less frantic than before, but still sending shivers down Martin’s spine. He hummed in agreement, though he wasn’t sure it was to the question, the statement, or the kissing.

“I don’t… “ He raked his fingers through Arthur’s hair, arching unconsciously against him. “I don’t even know how to do this.” 

“To be honest,” He didn’t interrupt his trail of kisses up Martin’s throat. “I only…know which bit….goes where…but not much….more.” He finally found Martin’s mouth, and met him in a slow, lazy kiss as they both undid the other’s shirt.

When they finally found skin, Martin had to marvel at the feel of it. It was so uncommon for him to be touching someone so intimately, it felt alien under his fingers, and at the same time, it felt like he was drinking fresh water after a day in the Sahara. He wanted this, _him_ , so, so bad.

“Bed,” he whispered, trying to get up and lift Arthur with him. “We’ll… improvise.”

To which Arthur replied with a breathy “Brilliant!” before stumbling with him to the bed and falling on it side by side, tugging at each other’s belts.

He didn’t think he had ever cared less about his uniform laying crumpled on the floor.

_This is definitely no longer PG-13_

He thought with a giggle as Arthur helped him out of his briefs. Arthur was naked himself, soft in the middle without being chubby; soft all over, really, but with and underlying strength that had Martin sighing in contentment as his friend lay his full weight on him, trailing his hands through his sides, and stopping at the curve of his ass.

“Do you think Douglas knows how?” Arthur rumbled distractedly while Martin explored his body with slow caresses.

Martin snorted. They weren’t talking about Douglas, not now. Still…

“I’d ask him just to see his face having to admit he doesn’t.”

Arthur chuckled around the ear he was nibbling. 

“Skip, he probably does know, though.”

He let out a groan that mixed with a gasp at a fortunate roll of Arthur’s hips.

“And he… he’d have lots of…. Anecdotes and … Oh, God, yes…. And images that we… mmm… won’t be able to… forget…” Why was he still talking about Douglas?

They settled into a moderate rhythm. Martin doubted he would last long and he hoped Arthur was as riled up as he was, otherwise it would be embarrassing really soon. He felt like a teenager, but he tried his best to push those anxieties aside, and just focus on Arthur, on kissing him and caressing him, on pouring his soul out through his body, and let Arthur know just how much this meant to him. 

Soon, Arthur tensed on top of him, rolling his hips more erratically, and Martin was already there, hearing Arthur moan _Skip_ again and again as he saw white and passed out for a few milliseconds. 

After collapsing on top of him, Arthur rolled onto his back, pulling Martin to his chest, that still heaved rapidly in ragged breaths.

“Brilliant!” he said breathlessly, but with that deeper throaty voice of absolute excitement, like when he realised they’d be seeing polar bears. “That was absolutely brilliant!”

Martin snuggled closer to him, already half gone.

“Sleep,” he mumbled and Arthur tightened his hold of him kissing the top of his head.

“Good night,… Martin.”

Martin frowned.

“Skip, call me Skip.”

“I thought… Well, I…”

“Only you call me Skip,” he clarified, his words already feeling far away and mingling with the beginning of a dream. “Skip is only yours.”

Before he faded into the best sleep he’d had in ages, he heard Arthur’s voice, in a distant whisper.

“Good night, Skip.”

**Author's Note:**

> Last part for this prompt: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/4207.html?thread=6531439#cmt6531439


End file.
